For the past couple of days I’ve been fighting off a raging blue funk. No particular reason, really – just a combination of seasonal affective disorder, travel fatigue, the endless grind of the job search, politics, world events, Dreamweaver 8, and… okay, fine, I’ll say it: PMS. <\/p>\n
Blah. Blah-de-blah-blah-blah. Whatever.<\/p>\n
Times like this, I gotta call in the big guns. Plath<\/strong><\/a>? No, did that<\/strong><\/a> already. Lowell<\/strong><\/a>? Nope, him too<\/strong><\/a>. Sexton<\/strong><\/a>? Meh. Millay<\/strong><\/a>? <\/p>\n Millay… Yeah, that’s it. When it comes to blue funks, Edna St. Vincent Millay knows how to throw down. Here’s “Spring”<\/strong><\/a>, a perfect little jewel of a downer poem:<\/p>\n To what purpose, April, do you return again? Ahhh… Nothing like a little Edna to make me feel like I’m in good company. But you really have to read the rest of the poem<\/strong><\/a>. The last line is the best.<\/p>\n Jama’s hosting the round-up today at Alphabet Soup<\/strong><\/a>. AND she’s got a contest going for anyone posting about Bob Dylan lyrics. So, here’s a couple verses from one of my favorites, “Song to Woody.”<\/strong><\/a> Thanks, Jama!<\/p>\n I’m out here a thousand miles from my home, Hey, hey Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song For the past couple of days I’ve been fighting off a raging blue funk. No particular reason, really – just a combination of seasonal affective disorder, travel fatigue, the endless grind of the job search, politics, world events, Dreamweaver 8, and… okay, fine, I’ll say it: PMS. Blah. Blah-de-blah-blah-blah. Whatever. Times like this, I gotta […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1176","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry-friday"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1176","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1176"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1176\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1176"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1176"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1176"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nBeauty is not enough.
\nYou can no longer quiet me with the redness
\nOf little leaves opening stickily.
\nI know what I know.
\nThe sun is hot on my neck as I observe
\nThe spikes of the crocus.
\nThe smell of the earth is good.
\nIt is apparent that there is no death.
\nBut what does that signify?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nWalkin’ a road other men have gone down.
\nI’m seein’ your world of people and things,
\nYour paupers and peasants and princes and kings.<\/p>\n
\n‘Bout a funny ol’ world that’s a-comin’ along.
\nSeems sick an’ it’s hungry, it’s tired an’ it’s torn,
\nIt looks like it’s a-dyin’ an’ it’s hardly been born.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"